Nacht

I want the night; Its perfumed breath of sweet disappearances.

The day is far too bright and blaring and the shoemaker has the wrong size for my frumpy foot.

In the day all is seen and far too 'there,' or, maybe just 'here.'

Illumined events are held for ransom by the sun; the eyes of my daughter are not closed in sleep; mine are not on the soft spiral of the mirror.

This is no mere avoidance, lest you think me foolish and ungrown. I have the years in my tally to understand and restore what needs repair.

But, at present these botherations are too broken and in starting anew, the reins must fly.

~ Tall halls of masterpieces and the flicker of sarcasm. The words of my masters and the smile of wisdom that is mine alone.

I want the night; the day is far too dangerous.

My moments are sewn together with a vision that I cannot change.

I hear those earthy words . . .

You think you know the stink of mistake, and I watch you weave in the loom of your own misfortunate arrogance, my Dear.

You think. You think you know. You think you know more. You think we know little of you.

You think.

And that, without knowing, is a finger without the sponge of bone, it is beautiful though, to some eyes;

to yours.

Yes, to be sure of it, I want the night.

LAD & Gypsy